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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823857">Burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaCub90/pseuds/TeaCub90'>TeaCub90</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cups of Tea and 221Bs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>221b, Angst, Gen, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic, and generally working out</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:34:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>221</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823857</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaCub90/pseuds/TeaCub90</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>‘Keep going, get it out, come on.’</i> </p><p>221b fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cups of Tea and 221Bs [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659088</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>‘Come on, John,’ Lestrade grunts next to him, grasping the handles of his cross-trainer and they are <em>off,</em> pounding an invisible road, wrenching their arms and legs backwards and forwards for all their worth, grunting and sweating out too many weeks of exertion and stress.</p><p>For Lestrade: impudent murderers who have the audacity to carry on killing. For John: widowhood and being saved.</p><p>He slams his eyes shut, breathing hard, wrenching himself away from the vision of Sherlock’s face – his blood, his bruises; John’s own arms and legs, the whole body he’s trying to get back into gear the very thing that harmed him.</p><p>
  <em>Get the hell on with it. Faster. Faster.</em>
</p><p>‘That’s it, John, come on,’ Lestrade barks breathlessly, encouraging him, matching him movement for movement and it becomes a kind of race, typical manliness, the pair of them both attempting to out-do the other. ‘Yeah, that’s it. Feel the burn.’</p><p>
  <em>Feel the burn.</em>
</p><p>‘Keep going, get it out, come on.’</p><p>
  <em>Get it out. Burn it out. Burn out the rage, the alcohol, the weakness, the memory of them both bleeding on the floor. Burn out the simmering fury that you felt with one and lashed down upon the other. Burn it, set it ablaze; set this whole temple of wrong aflame, entire.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t bury it; <b>burn</b> it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do better. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>*</em>
</p>
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